On the Four Celestials
by eighteenlandry
Summary: Poems for four of the seven FFX playable characters. (Water and winter; fire and summer; air and spring; earth and autumn.) Spoilers.
1. The Conflicted

_the first_; the moon;

water and winter;

the conflicted;

born to defeat and death,

born with chains and regrets and only a bleached-bone circular path to tread

* * *

><p>She knew a granite face will hold no soul,<br>she would be lost once carved in empty stone,  
>yet she must walk, and play her honoured role,<br>and make a better world than ash and bone.  
>They thought she had a choice, they did not see<br>there always was but one- she might keep dreams,  
>the boy was life and laughter, but his bright plea<br>still fell on hearts too deadened for more screams.  
>She felt the statues' proud and lonely call,<br>she felt the ever-closer tread of death,  
>yet the world seemed deaf and blind, and she too small<br>to impress on them her doom, her failing breath.  
>Her path sundered, they fixed their winged white shroud<br>upon her arms- _but finally she knows,  
><em>_she sees their secret hearts_- and she had bowed  
>her whole life to their lies, and so she chose:<br>she knows now love and sorrow; she must try  
>to conquer those, rather than blindly die.<p> 


	2. The Cynic

_the second_; goddess of beauty;

fire and summer;

the cynic;

too sad,

too tired,

to watch the world without bitterness

* * *

><p>there can never be another his like<br>the cold shadows of sorrow reach ever further  
>her mind sleeps and decays in winter and rain<br>she is not what she imagined she would be-

the cold shadows of sorrow reach ever further,  
>her pity is withered and buried away<br>she is not what she imagined she would be  
>the eyes in the mirror are a stranger's-<p>

her pity is withered and buried away  
>but his preposterous hope is still touching<br>the eyes in the mirror are a stranger's  
>she knows he is still a good man-<p>

his preposterous hope is still touching  
>her mind sleeps and decays in winter and rain<br>but she knows he is still a good man,  
>there will not be another his like.<p> 


	3. The Optimist

A/N: I'm not a good enough poet to try and give Tidus' or Auron's poems any proper form (I wanted a villanelle, but neither of the ideas I had fit it), so they're both sort of drabbles. Sorry.

* * *

><p><em>the third<em>; the sun;

air and spring;

the optimist;

dream made so nearly real,

dream made brighter than those who truly existed

* * *

><p>in the night<br>in the dark  
>in the quiet<br>there are cold stares  
>there are red suns<br>there are no lights  
>the world sleeps and he does not,<br>his heart is with a city where the  
>lights are shut off as the sun rises<br>his heart is with a world untainted by fear  
>his heart is with crowds and electricity<p>

he walks and walks and the new world is no longer a dream  
>he walks and walks and the world he left is tinted bright in regretful memory<br>he is a hopeful man but hope is cold in his weary heart  
>he is his own but he has trailed his father all his life<br>he is a man more real than those  
>poor souls of limp and lifeless cheer,<br>he is not real enough to follow the others  
>to a world where hopeless dreams have given way<br>he must follow  
>he must continue<br>he must comfort

he must laugh because they were cold and he gave them life

she loves him and her aching arms slip through him


	4. The Realist

A/N: Done! I've rushed this one though, and it shows, and I'm quite attached to Auron, so I may come back to it.

* * *

><p><em>the fourth<em>; god of war;

earth and autumn;

the realist;

bereft of life,

an empty vessel,

waiting

* * *

><p>he slides through cold and shifting air<br>through newborn land and useless time  
>he flies as light-<br>and will-  
>he glides<br>across the boundaries of dream  
>death is not kind-<br>to speech or-  
>thought-<br>he endures but he cannot rule his mind

he tastes ash on his lips, he walks,  
>he is no more in flesh than those<br>statues of stars-  
>who hoped-<br>in vain  
>his head and mind are rinsed by blood<br>of all but drive-  
>and endless-<br>grief-  
>he knows that laughter is a joy he will not taste again<p>

he watches them, the daughter and  
>the son, they grow, they never learn<br>to live beyond-  
>their sires-<br>their markers  
>he looks in mirrors and sees<br>an eye no spell-  
>or tonic will-<br>mend-  
>yet even with the Farplane's call he slips so simply<p>

to the dead ten years are not so long  
>as one would think, he knows that now<br>the time to feel-  
>to wait-<br>is dying  
>he looks in a too-old sword at<br>a long-dead face-  
>he thinks, he-<br>calls-

Jecht-

it is his story  
>he must<br>live it a  
>while yet,<br>not yet,  
>not yet-<p>

once it is time I will carry him.


End file.
